


shatter

by mellowly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Communal housing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Soviet Era, Soviet Union, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 05:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13451685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowly/pseuds/mellowly
Summary: poland is angry.lithuania is (almost) helpless.(or: some wounds don't heal well.)





	shatter

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea at (probably) 3 am on a sleepless night. We usually see Poland taking all his misery in stride, maybe joking it off or just being strong and pulling through, somehow. 
> 
> But even strong people break, occasionally.
> 
> This is that story.

**moscow, december, 1963**

* * *

 

Lithuania hears the sound of smashing glass the moment he walks through the door, and drops his coat with no further ado and runs inside. Russia is out, this he knows, and hopefully the other residents of this miserable house have the decency to leave Poland alone when he’s having an episode.  
  
All residents but Lithuania.

  
He approaches him the way one would a wounded animal - and in some way, that is what he is, now, in this moment, bleeding on the kitchen floor but deliriously raising a fist full of shattered porcelain to toss and Lithuania grasps his thin wrist, feeling the pulse beneath his fingers too rapid and too weak. The radio is spitting static at him in the background.  
  
“Polska,” he murmurs, and pulls him to the ground, away from the broken glass, into his arms.  
Poland _screams_ and fights, twisting and thrashing to free his arms, to get loose, wild and warm and heartbreaking, and all Lithuania can do is hold him close and dip his head against his neck and wait.

  
  
And wait-

  
  
And wait.

  
  
Poland isn’t speaking clearly, just a grotesque garbled mess of _it’s not fair it’s not fucking fair why did they leave me why did they betray me why do they all hurt me_  between wretched sobs and deep, ragged gasps that shake them both and make Lithuania’s very soul twist and pull.  
  
He’s strong, but Lithuania is stronger even if it hurts when Poland claws at his hands and shrieks for him to let _go_ , let go, _let me go Liet_ -  
  
Eventually, it subsides. It always does, eventually, as long as Lithuania holds his wrists so tight his knuckles whiten and presses himself against Poland, as long as he holds on-  
Poland stops sobbing. He stops screaming, and dissolves into quiet and desperate crying, like a homesick child in his arms.  
  
He lets the last shivers wreck them both, on the ruined kitchen floor.  
  
“Liet,” comes his voice, at last, soft and broken and meek and _apologetic_ and it makes Lithuania want to scream.  
  
“I’ve got you, Po.”  
  
Poland sniffs quietly and winces as Lithuania lets go and blood flows freely to his hands, the cuts and scratches stinging sharply and making a bleeding mess of his sweater.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I just-“ He sounds so little, so weak, and Lithuania’s heart is breaking into a thousand thousand tiny pieces.  
  
Their breaths slow.

  
"I know."


End file.
